


The Inevitability of Staying Alive

by loevrites



Category: The Inevitability of Staying Alive
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24231607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loevrites/pseuds/loevrites
Summary: Marcus’ life hadn't always been spiralling out of control. He used to live with his parents in a nice one storey house in New Mexico. He used to play baseball for his high school team and he wasn't half bad at it. He used to attend the drama club with some of his friends and he even used to have a boyfriend.Well. That hadn't exactly lasted.The moment Marcus’s parents had found out about his sexuality, everything pretty much went to shit. He couldn't do drama anymore. He was in church every Sunday. And at some point he became stranded in Germany with no money, no ability to communicate, no place to live, nothing. If you asked him, he’d say things could be worse, but that’s rather unlikely.He dreamed of a studio apartment somewhere in Paris, of a better life for his one and only friend. He dreamed of his parents coming to get him, but reality was always there when he woke up, suffocating him, making sure he felt as though this was the way things would always be. That this was the inevitability of staying alive.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a fanfiction. Let me explain.  
> As much as I love writing Drarry and miss updating some of the works I started on here, I'm now writing an original story. If you see this because you follow me on twitter you probably already know what this story is about, but if you see this because you're subscribed to me on here, I'd recommend checking it out. It's gay, it's angsty and I'm putting a lot of work into it. I know some Wattpad works got published but I'm too resentful towards that particular app to post anything on there and here it is, my original story that probably will never get published but I want people to read it anyway. If you enjoy the first chapter, make sure to leave kudos and comment any feedback, I love to hear your guys' opinions <3 
> 
> Cannot forget to give a big thank you and Lots of credit to @faux_affliction (@manicparker on twitter! give her some love!!) for beta reading and pointing out all my silly mistakes.

_ In my dream I was standing barefoot on a balcony of a flat. The railings were painted white and there was just enough room for a gray plastic chair and a potted plant. I wished upon every force in the universe never to wake up. The view was incredible, but I didn't think it was real. The sun was setting over the sea, and beneath me there was a huge rocky beach that glimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. The sea was calm, green and blue. White waves were swaying on the shore. I was so stunned by the sight that I couldn't look away for what felt like eternity. Once I did, I saw a never-ending forest somewhere on the left. Treetops danced in the soft sea breeze, and a fifty or so foot tall cliff stood on the right. On the cliff there was a cottage house with a yard filled with various bushes and flowers I couldn't name. A little dog was running around, chasing seagulls. I could hear it barking, no matter the distance. The house itself was painted baby blue, and one of the walls was entirely covered with a mural of a little boy sitting under a big oak tree. I didn’t know why, but I was sure the boy was me. I stared at the painting for what felt like days, and when I blinked I wasn't on the balcony anymore. I was standing on the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves hitting the bottom, the noise of them ringing in my ears. I stood there for another lifetime and a half until the ringing morphed into something that resembled the sound of my ringtone. I finally averted my eyes from the view below to go inside the building I knew was right behind me but when I turned around the house was gone. In its place was my old family home that I knew for a fact still stood, unbothered by my absence, in Rio Rancho. The walls were painted an ugly orange and the paint was coming off in some places, just like I remembered it. I told myself that it was just a dream, but that didn't stop a wave of anxiety that spilled over my entire body, slowly consuming every inch of it. I tried closing my eyes but my unconscious brain had a different idea of fun, and so I was forced to watch my father open the front door and walk leisurely toward me. I took a single step back but behind me was the cliff’s edge, the angry and unforgiving waves spilling over the black rocks fifty feet below, and so I stood there, shivering with fear, until my father reached me. The sound of my ringtone became deafening in my head but I still heard my father speak over it. _

_ “You should have known, Marcus,” his voice was calm, but I knew what he was capable of behind that facade. I wondered, only partially aware of my own consciousness, whether this was what he looked like now, or just my last memory of his dark, freckled face and salt and pepper hair. “You should have known better.” _

_ I tried to reach my left forearm with my right hand to pinch myself, but my limbs weighed more than all of the stars in the universe. My father came even closer then, and started growing in my eyes. Seven feet, eight, nine. I felt the beginning of a scream building up in the pit of my stomach. My father opened his mouth to speak again but the voice that came out wasn't his. _

_ “Dein Handy klingelt.” _

_ Wait...what? _

“Dein Handy klingelt.”

I woke with a start and nearly fell off the bench I had been napping on. I blinked the blurry spots out of my eyes and looked to my left to see a guy sitting down beside me. He smiled gently, his face smooth and darker than mine, although not by much. His dark brown eyes twinkled at me, as if waking up homeless teenagers sleeping on park benches was the most fun he could imagine having. His short curls seemed to soften his sharp jawline, and for half a second I wondered what he would look like with longer hair. He was clearly amused by my reaction as he gestured toward the pocket of my jeans. I could hear my phone ringing but I was too stupefied to connect the noise and his words. I was pretty sure “Handy” meant phone but I was still shaking, the image of my father’s cruel face had embedded itself in my mind and it took me a while to open my mouth and finally speak.

“What?” I realised, if not too late, that the boy probably couldn't speak a word of english. (Or he didn't want to. That was the thing with the Germans, they could always understand me but most of the time were simply too lazy to try and make  _ me  _ understand  _ them. _ ) 

“Your phone is ringing,” he said with a slight french accent and a diverted grin, and pointed to my pocket again. I was pleasantly surprised for about a second, and then gave him a slight nod as a silent ‘thank you’. I fumbled my cell phone out of my pocket and answered the call without bothering to check who was calling. It could only be one person anyway.

_ “Where in Lucifer’s arsehole are you?”  _

“Kreuzberg,” I said it mid-yawn and sniffed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes with my left hand.

_ “Yeah no shit, Marcus, but that’s not where you  _ should  _ be. Do you know what time it is? You were supposed to be here forty minutes ago, you twat.” _

“Christ, Rue, chill with the bitching. I fell asleep in...wait a second,” I pulled my phone away from my ear but I could already hear her babble anyway. I looked around, trying to locate the name of the park, but I wound up with nothing. I turned left and bit the inside of my lip, trying to decide whether or not to ask the stranger that was still sitting beside me for some help. He was typing something on his phone and I almost gave up, but he must have felt me staring because he looked up at that moment and raised his brows.

“Do you need something?” He scanned me head to toe and suddenly I became very aware of the pathetic state of my clothes and my general physique. I blinked twice and covered the receiver of my phone with the palm of my hand.

“Do you know where we are?” 

The guy gave me a confused little frown, as though wondering how I’d manage to fall asleep in a park I didn't know the name of, and took a whiff of his cigarette.

“Wassertorplatz,” he seemed unbothered and disinterested, but I could still feel his gaze on the side of my face once I turned to face the far edge of the park.

“Thanks,” I put the phone back against my ear and was immediately met with Rue’s angry tangent. Apparently she hadn't even realised I’d stopped listening.

_ “–know how fucking mad I am right now I swear to everything holy that I’ll stab you with an HIV infected needle if you don't get your bony ass here in the next hour, for fuck’s sake.” _

“I fell asleep in Wassertorplatz,” I heard Rue cuss in german on the other end and then a sound reached me that must have been her kicking the living shit out of the payphone stand. 

_ “Please tell me you at least got the money,”  _ she sounded so desperate and hurt that I scowled down at my knees and immediately felt bad for having fallen asleep. And then I remembered I  _ didn't  _ have the money.

“Shit, Rue, I’m sorry,” her sigh was shaky and I could imagine her clutching the phone with her cold bony fingers as she tried to keep calm. 

_ “I suppose it’s only fair that I don’t have that charger you asked for,”  _ she muttered through clenched teeth and there was no apology in her voice. I checked my battery life and cursed quietly. I rubbed my hand on my face and through my hair and looked up at the cloudy sky. I wasn't used to the chilly May weather, having grown up in New Mexico, but it had been getting systematically warmer over the last few weeks, the rain and frost replaced by sun and the occasional thunderstorm. I closed my eyes and listened to Rue’s ragged breaths on the other end of the line as the soft breeze ruffled my hair. I looked to my side at the boy sitting next to me and wondered for a second if he was listening, but he seemed preoccupied enough with the screen of his phone and his cigarette so I closed my eyes again and let the back of my head hit the bench.

“How bad is it?”

_ “Bad, Marcus, I need painkillers or a noose, either one sounds good right now, but–”  _ she was cut off by her own dry-heaving and I had to take my phone away from my ear again, otherwise I was sure I would be sick as well.

See, Rue was going through withdrawal again. At that point I wasn't sure I had enough fingers and toes to count the times we’d been through this in the past couple months. The thing with Rue was that she was trying her best, but against addiction “best” was never quite enough. She’d been done with the pills and weed for a long time, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't win against heroin. I had tried to blackmail her into sobriety before but the time spent being her best friend taught me that all I could really do was hide my money when she was high and support her on her way down, no matter how many sleepless nights filled with vomit and fever she and I both had to go through to get there. I was there for her when she was high as a kite and I was there for her when she was puking for hours on end in a public restroom. In exchange she was always there for me, my own private alarm clock, making sure I didn't sleep in the rain and sneaking me into her house so that I could shower. Perfect match, the homeless guy and the junkie. We were each other's lifelines, we held each other up. I always came back to her, no matter how many times she yelled at or slapped me when I wouldn't give her money for drugs and she always came back to me, no matter how often I told her she was selfish for letting addiction ruin her otherwise decent life.

_ “Marcus?”  _ Rue’s voice brought me back to reality and I opened my eyes to stare at the treetops instead.

“Where are you? I think I can manage to get you fifteen euros but that’s painkillers money. For the painkillers.”

_ “For fuck’s sake, Marcus, I know. Just come get me. Please.”  _

“Where are you?”

_ “Schlesisches Tor. I think that’s two stops away. I’m gonna wait right outside by the phone,”  _ she sounded beaten up and hopeful, I would have hated to disappoint her.

“Hold tight,” I hung up on her and put my face in my hands. I sat motionlessly for a few seconds and then dug through all of my pockets in search of money. I checked my jeans, hoodie, all the little pockets of my backpack, and came up with two euros and seventy three cents. Fucking great. 

I stood up and went on rechecking my back pockets when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked at the guy who was surprisingly enough still sitting on my bench, his eyes wide, his smile soft and inviting. He was smoking another cigarette and I wondered whether he was waiting for someone or just really interested in skinny homeless guys. His white button down shirt and blue jeans made him look civil and fresh out of some preppy private school, but I pocketed my two euros anyway and scowled at him warily. He held up his hands defensively at my expression and his smile turned sheepish. 

“You look like someone who needs help,” he sounded concerned and amused as he smoked, his legs crossed at the ankles.

“Were you eavesdropping or what? I’m fine,” I sat back down, planning on ignoring the dude and tried to come up with some kind of a plan, but there was no way I could magically produce thirteen euros in an hour. I sighed heavily and buried my face in my hands, my fingers throbbed for a cigarette and my hair tickled the sides of my face.

“Let me help you,” God, this man was going to be the death of me. I closed my eyes and pretended not to hear him speak at all, giving myself a couple minutes before going to see Rue and disappointing her with my two euros seventy three. I imagined her pained expression, her skinny shoulders trembling with cold and fever and I opened my eyes to get rid of the picture, but just like my father’s disgust and hatred, the fear of losing Rue could never go away, the only static part of my pathetic life.

“How much do you need?” the bastard wasn't giving up. I tilted my head to the side and saw him pull out his wallet. Immediately, I sat up straight and moved as far away from the guy as possible on the bench.

“I don't need anything from you, I'm not a charity program,” I scowled at him but he kept smiling kindly, like I was a stray dog that could easily be scared away. I stood up and he extended his arm, presumably to shake my hand. I blinked at him stupidly and squeezed both my hands into my pockets. He waited, his hand unmoving, his expression unchanged.

“My mom told me not to play with strangers,” I spat it out and slung my backpack over my shoulder and the guy  _ fucking laughed _ .

“I’m Junior,” he stood up, his arm extended still and I pinched the bridge of my nose. He waited a moment longer before speaking. “I won't be a stranger if you tell me your name, you know,” his accent was infuriating and I needed to go but I looked up at him. The guy was at least two inches taller than me, which wasn't impressive in itself, considering my five and a half feet, but his overall presence and the confidence he seemed to carry himself with was enough to make anyone feel small next to him. 

I sighed and gave in, shaking his hand while adjusting the strap of my backpack.

“Marcus. Will you leave me alone now?” he grinned and shrugged, shaking his head no, as if we were old friends messing around. I wanted to punch him in the face or tell him to fuck off but there was something in his smile that made my brain act funny. Maybe my mom had been right when she’d told me homosexuality was a disease. 

“Well then, can I at least have a cigarette?” For a brief moment he looked surprised, but then he fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his pants and extended his arm in a silent invitation. I took a cigarette out, some german brand I didn't recognise, and he lit it for me. I took a drag and exhaled slowly, watching the acrid smoke curling in the air around my face. I closed my eyes for a moment and imagined the dark smoke consuming me until there was none of me left. I opened my eyes, took another whiff and blew smoke in Junior’s face.

“That’s enough help,” his smile wavered as he pocketed the cigs but he kept looking at me.

“Why are you so stubborn? You clearly need money,” he looked at the poor state of my hoodie. I knew for a fact there was a ketchup stain in the middle of it but I didn't look down, crossing my arms instead, the cigarette hand extended a bit. (Yes, I have had some unfortunate accidents that ended with my clothes smoldering and no, I'm not going to talk about it ever again.)

“As I said, I'm not charity. I can get my own money, I don't need a rich boy’s pity, thank you very much,” with that I threw the remains of my cigarette on the pavement, ground it out with my foot, turned around, and started walking away. I heard Junior gather his things, struggling to catch up with me, but I pushed his presence to the back of my mind. I knew there was no way I could buy any pills with less than three euros but I had to try anyway. Rue needed me, she was counting on my help, and no amount of annoying pedestrians could stop me. That said, he followed me nonetheless. I made my way through the park with Junior right behind me, muttering in german, as if he were being forced to follow me around. I tried to ignore him, hoping he would get discouraged, but I still wondered whether he was actually determined to help me or just bored, considering how unforgivably rude I’d been. Or maybe he was a creep, preying on kids who needed help (which I didn't), persuading them to follow him into dark alleys and then stabbing them to death. I resisted the urge to look back at him and bit the inside of my cheek to suppress the smile that this particular scenario invoked. As I made my way through the quiet park I could hear Junior behind me, I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck but he stayed silent, either aware of my rising temper or tired of his own constant yapping. Possibly both. We walked in silence for what felt like hours, but to my relief I reached the sidewalk soon enough and stopped dead in my tracks. Junior apparently wasn't expecting me to do that because he crashed into my back, nearly toppling us both to the ground, cursing in german and immediately starting to apologise in english. He grabbed my forearm to steady himself but I yanked it away, which caused him to sway and almost trip over his own feet. It took him a moment to find his balance and once he did he smiled apologetically and straightened his collar. I crossed my arms and stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, glaring at him. My thoughts buzzed with irritation, as well as something softer, like he was an annoying little animal that wouldn't stop getting in my way, but I couldn't as well get rid of him without feeling guilty. I pushed that thought to the darkest corner of my consciousness and went on grinding my teeth and ignoring the people around us, channeling all my indignation into a convincing death stare.

No hope. He was fucking smiling again.

“I told you,” I said through clenched teeth, though at that point I was mostly just tired of hammering the concept into his head. “I don't need any–”

“Okay, okay,” he rolled his eyes and I clamped my mouth shut, perplexed, unable to fathom that he’d finally given up. But of course he kept talking. 

“You're not charity. Let’s make it a transaction.”

I blinked and took a step back, pulling my arms tighter around my body, one billion worst-case scenarios crossing my mind all at once, the thought of him being a creep was not so funny anymore. I gulped and looked around, eager to make sure the people on the street were still there.

“Who the fuck do you honestly think I am?” I said quietly, trying to calm my anxiety, but my breaths were shallow and my mind was racing. Junior blinked a few times and then his expression changed, from surprise to shock and then terror.

“Oh, God, no,” he reached his hand out as if to touch me but stopped, as though he’d changed his mind halfway through the idea. 

“I’m so sorry, Marcus, that came out all wrong, I didn't...I wouldn't…” he seemed to have lost his tongue and he let his arms fall slack at his sides, cringing at himself. He snorted a nervous laugh and slapped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed and contrite. I was still fairly uneasy but the shame and remorse on his face were convincing enough that I relaxed my rigid muscles and stuffed my hands back into my pockets. We regarded each other in silence for a few moments and finally I was the first one to break.

“What did you mean then?” he exhaled slowly, the tension disappearing from his shoulders as he cleared his throat. He got his  _ Handy  _ out of his pocket and offered it to me.

“Give me your number,” he said it like it was the most obvious and natural thing he could have said, and in that moment all I wanted was to be struck by lightning or hit by a car. I looked at his phone, then at his face, then at his phone again. Finally I scowled and raised my brow, looking back up at him.

“Why on earth would I do that?” he lifted one shoulder in a shrug and quirked a smile, a dimple I hadn't noticed before forming on his left cheek. 

“So that you can return the favour some other time, I suppose. I’ll text you when I need your help with something,” we just stood there then, him – smiling, his right hand in his pocket, his white button down shirt spotless and otherwise perfect, his left arm extended and holding the phone; and me – dumbfounded, probably quite stinky, with a ketchup stain on my hoodie and a hole in my left shoe, wondering why he wasn't at all scared that I’d snatch the phone and run off. We were both silent and perfectly still for a minute while I evaluated my options. 

Option A: I could refuse his help, somehow get rid of him, go to see Rue and watch her cry on a bathroom floor because I’d failed her and fucked up big time.

Option B: I could give him my number, take some change he was offering, get Rue her medicine and spend the rest of the night taking good care of her and nursing her back to health. 

Option C: I could snatch the phone and run very fast.

“Fine but I don't know why you’d ever need my help with anything,” I grabbed Junior’s phone, opened the contacts app and typed in my number. I named myself “marcus the homeless guy” and handed his phone back. His grin was blinding, his teeth white and straight and otherwise as perfect as they get, and he got hold of his wallet again. Next thing I knew he was handing me fifty euros. I snorted a laugh but his smile was unchanged and I figured he wasn't joking. I gaped at him, not wanting to believe that he would throw around that kind of money. He took the opportunity, using my confusion to my disadvantage, and grabbed my wrist to forcibly put the money in the palm of my hand.

“Come on, that’s too much, I only really need like thirteen euros,” I tried to hand him back a twenty but he backed away, hands behind his back, a smug grin plastered across his face that made me want to slap him. But, like, gently.

“Look, you can pay me back some time in the future, right? Once you're not, you know…”

“Homeless?”

“Precisely,” he shrugged and fixed his eyes on me so I rolled my eyes and sighed, defeated, pocketing the bills. 

“Thank you,” I said after a pause and pushed the hair out of my face, hand lingering at the nape of my neck to play nervously with the blond curls. I didn't need to see the hair back there to be painfully aware that I desperately needed a shower. Junior gave me a small nod and took out his cigarette pack. He took one out and lit it, fumbled with his lighter and put everything back in his pocket. How he managed to squeeze anything in there, with his jeans so tight, was as much a mystery to me as the fifty euros in my own pant pocket. 

“Well, aren't you in a hurry?” I realised I’d been staring and felt my face reddening. I fixed the strap of my backpack on my shoulder and cleared my throat as Junior watched me, a cigarette between his lips, a shadow of an amused smile threatening to take over his face.

“Yeah,” I scratched my cheek and bit the inside of my lower lip, then cleared my throat again. “Thanks again,” I turned on my heel, ignoring Junior’s snicker, and headed toward the nearest underground station.


	2. Chapter Two

As I made my way through the busy streets of rush hour Berlin, dodging tourists and avoiding making eye contact with angry-looking businessmen, my thoughts wandered to the first time I managed to ride the underground with absolutely no money on me. It had been back in March, when the weather would often drop below zero at night, making walking for hours on end through the city not only uncomfortable, but probably quite dangerous. 

Riding the subway had been somewhat unavailable to me back then, simply because I’d usually had barely enough money to buy food. Buses were easier. I would get on one without a ticket and stay alert at all times. The moment I realised tickets were being checked, I’d get up and get off at the nearest stop. Easy and free, but time consuming, considering the endless Berlin traffic. There were times when I would have gotten somewhere faster on foot than if I’d taken the bus. And besides, busses had always smelled of old people and drunk teenagers.

The moment I reached the entrance to the underground station I let the familiar anxiety carry me. Scamming rich people was an art form, something I’d fallen in love with over the past couple months, something I wasn't going to stop doing. I didn't like begging for help and playing the victim, especially since my dire situation was mostly my own fault, but fooling men in suits who would give me money just to get rid of me? It was exhilarating. It reminded me of my time spent in New Mexico, when I stole my racist neighbour’s dog. Mrs. Smith had been so desperate to find the little rat that she’d plastered “have you seen me” posters around the city, claiming she would give one hundred real American dollars to anyone who would bring her  _ Sally  _ back. So I’d gotten the dog and watched in triumph as she handed me, a brown boy, a “poor Mexican”, the money she had promised. I’d never done it again afterwards because I’d felt bad for having kept the poor dog under my bed for a week, but the memory always made my day a bit better.  Revenge was as much a drug as heroin.

I shook my head and brought myself back to reality as I jogged down the cement stairs and entered the underground corridor. I knew this particular place fairly well, so I quickly headed for the right stop. The floor was dark gray and the walls were painted a sickly pale yellow. There were a couple of metal benches and a few ticket machines in the middle of the station, creating a kind of island between the two railroads. In front of me, trains were departing east, and behind me – west, nearly all the way to Westend. I fixed the straps of my backpack and pushed my hands in my pockets, heading towards one of the ticket machines and scanning the people around me. The diversity was enormous, as always. Students in uniforms, old ladies muttering in  _ Deutsch _ , a bunch of people who looked like they could be drug dealers, a girl wearing nothing but a swimsuit and flip flops (I couldn't stop glancing at her, simply because of the outrageousness of the situation, and she winked at me as she caught me staring) and, of course, tourists speaking in...Arabic? Or was it Russian? God, my own American ignorance surprised me sometimes.

As the middle-aged lady in front of me was done buying her ticket, I fished a few coins out of my left pocket and began putting them in the machine, forcing myself to look calm, even though my thoughts were racing and blood was rushing to my head. I wondered, only for a moment, whether I should just buy the ticket and be done with it, but there was a thought at the back of my mind that kept me from it. I was convinced that I needed to spend Junior’s money as best as I could.  I thought about buying a working phone charger or getting more than just one bottle of painkillers for Rue. I thought about going to the thrift store and finding a suit jacket for any future job interviews. And, to be honest,  _ this _ was what I lived off of. I suspected that the thing that had kept me going the last few weeks wasn't survival instincts or my family I hoped to return to (cynical, much?). It wasn't the thought that Rue needed me or that the Aldi manager could get back to me and offer me a job. No, what really kept me sane and willing to wake up every morning was the adrenaline. Anxiety and fear, or being caught, causing my blood to flow faster, clearing my thoughts and anchoring me to that very moment. It didn't matter whether I would have a place to sleep at night or if I was going to eat breakfast the next day or the day after that. All that was important was right there and then, reality pushed to the back of my mind every time I found myself pocketing H&M bracelets or stealing cheesecake from the library buffet or, well...doing exactly this.

I pushed a bunch of buttons on the ticket machine at random, knowing full well it wouldn't work, since I must have put in less than ten cents. I made quite a scene, cursing and hitting the buttons with my fist, until a bunch of people were sending me concerned looks. I finally “gave up” and sighed heavily, pushing my hair behind my ears and scratching the back of my neck, letting the person behind me buy their own tickets with an exasperated groan and an apologetic smile. Thank you drama club for teaching me how to act. That's when I spotted the perfect person. It was a young man, maybe ten or so years older than me. He was wearing a black suit with a red button down shirt and a black necktie. His dress pants were cuffed and looked good on him. He seemed rough around the edges but handsome, although his boots had certainly seen better days. He was typing angrily on his phone, an infuriated scowl settled on his pale face, brows furrowed. His shoulders were rigid and to anyone else he might have seemed unapproachable, but to me he was perfect. He was going to want me to leave him alone so desperately.

I took a few steps toward the man and cleared my throat.

“ _ Hallo _ ,” he ignored me, so I stepped even closer. The man was much taller than me, maybe six feet even, but he didn’t seem threatening, regardless of his furious expression. “Hi. Do you speak English?” Of course he did. The rich ones always did, probably something to do with international business trips and all that. Don't ask me, I wouldn't know anything about that kind of life.

The man finally looked up at me, his face, if possible, contorting even more, his dark eyebrows making him look mad and untamed. He crossed his arms and gave me a quick once-over.

“Yes. Is there a problem?” He had a thick accent, but I didn't mind. I was acting, and I was good at it. This wasn't Marcus the homeless guy that had once fought a drug dealer and ate McDonald’s out of a trash can at least half a dozen times. Today I was Marcus the teenage tourist that got separated from his friends and was desperately trying to find his way back. 

“I’m really sorry to interrupt, sir,” I forced myself to smile sheepishly and put my hands behind my back, trying to make myself look as small and friendly as possible. I started talking, scraping the back of my neck, giving the man all the unnecessary details he couldn't possibly care about, telling him about the school trip I was on, where we were from, where we were going next, what my friends’ names were, what coffee I was drinking when I’d realised I was late for the train, and so on. The man would sometimes look down at his phone, tapping his foot on the ground, his patience wearing thin as I proceeded to tell him that the ticket machine had just eaten my money (“That must have happened to you before, right, sir? Does it happen a lot? Oh, I’d hate to have to live here and go through that every day, what a faulty design, don't you think, sir?”). I’d started to run out of things to say when he finally snapped.

“Stop talking,” I clamped my mouth shut and looked at him in pretend shock, eyes wide before I smiled apologetically. The man sighed and plucked his leather wallet out of his back pocket. “Get to the point. How much is the ticket you need?” 

I grinned then. “Two fifty,” he gave me a five euro bill and waved me off when I started to protest. I thanked him in German (“ _ Danke sehr. _ ”) and strolled off. Obviously, I had no further issues surrounding buying a ticked and, once I did that, I waited a few more minutes on the cold metal bench, sitting next to some old lady that smelled of lemony toilet cleaner and a guy dressed in black that seemed like he might have run away from a rehab centre.

Once the train arrived, I made my way to the very back, finding a decent seat next to some girl who’s lap was filled with textbooks. She smiled at me as she moved her bag to make room, crossing her legs at the knee and resuming her studies. I fell onto the seat and took my phone out. No unanswered calls. No new messages. That meant Rue was okay and I was going to see her in a few minutes. I let myself relax my strained shoulders, allowed my head to fall to the headrest behind me and stared at the white ceiling, my mind wandering as the subway departed and we zoomed quietly through the tunnels. 

  
  


Rue looked terrible. She was sitting on a bench, legs crossed at the ankles, right by the payphone, just like she’d said she would. (Why there were still payphones in Berlin in the year 2020, that was another mystery in itself, but I wasn't going to question it, having used them plenty of times before.) 

As I approached her, I realised how bad of a state she was really in. Her purple hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but it was visibly slick with sweat nonetheless. She was shivering all over, despite her fuzzy brown coat and the warm weather, and I immediately felt guilty for taking so long to get to her. When I stopped in front of her she didn't even look up, so I sat down next to her on the bench and watched her knees tremble. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes as I looked up and down the street, trying to remember where the nearest drugstore was. When Rue finally spoke, her voice was barely audible and I had to lean closer to catch what she was saying.

“Got the pills?” 

“Not yet, but I have more than enough money to buy you extra,” she finally looked up at me then and held onto my forearm like she was afraid she would fly off the face of the planet if she were to let go. Her pupils were huge and her face was so pale it was almost greenish, but she managed a shaky smile and a thankful nod. I pulled a gray hoodie out of my backpack and helped her put it on as carefully as I could, brushing loose strands of hair out of her face in the process.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible. Don't go anywhere,” she huffed a little laugh at the idea and proceeded to use my backpack as a pillow as I got up. She curled up on the bench and closed her eyes. I knew she was trying to steady herself so that I wouldn't worry too much, but she kept quivering, her breaths jagged and uneven. 

I made my way to the drugstore as quickly as I could.

  
  


I got back fifteen minutes later with two bottles of painkillers, some sleeping pills and water. Rue was sitting up again. My backpack was in her lap and she was clutching it with both arms, as if it would anchor her to reality. A fresh puddle of vomit presented itself on the ground by the bench so I made my way carefully around it and sat down, handing her the pills without a word and watching her swallow three at once, as though her life depended on it. Then I passed her the water and she gulped it down with her eyes closed, her expression pained and relieved, if not a little blissful. She tossed the empty bottle into the trash can on her right and slumped down, letting her head fall onto my shoulder. We both sighed at the same time and it made me snort the littlest of laughs. Rue’s eyes were closed when I looked at her, and she didn't look any better than she had a minute ago. The bags under her eyes were a grayish purple, her lips chapped so badly I felt the urge to buy her some chapstick and force her to apply it until she looked human again. Her cheeks seemed even more hollow than usual, cheekbones threatening to break the skin at any moment. I averted my eyes and looked down at my knees, unable to look at her up close for too long. There was this brotherly love inside of me that wanted to sprout out of my chest every time I saw her in such a poor state. Rue and I have only been friends for a couple of months, but the time spent together was enough to make me care for her more than I’d ever cared for myself. One text from her was enough to have me jogging across the city when she needed my help or support. In a sense, she motivated me to keep going, if not for my own sake.

“We have to get you home,” as I broke the silence I had to focus all my inner strength on keeping my voice steady and seemingly unconcerned. Rue was silent for so long that I felt inclined to repeat myself, but when I opened my mouth to speak again, I heard her ragged whisper.

“Don't bother, mum doesn't want to see me,” she stayed put, her head still on my shoulder, but I could feel her tense up, as always when she was about to share something more personal than what she’d had for breakfast the day before.

“Well if she knew what state you were in, I bet—”

“Shut up,” she cut me off and I tilted my head to frown at her, even though she couldn't see it from that angle. Rue and her mom’s relationship was as complicated as they got, and she never let me interfere, no matter the circumstances. I sighed and pushed loose strands of hair out of my face.

“Fine. But you need a bed tonight. I’ll call Cherié,” I pushed my hand inside my pocket to fish my phone out, but Rue grabbed my wrist with some newfound force. She sat up straight and looked me in the face, her eyes wide and terrified, her lower lip shaking. She shook her head frantically and tightened her grip. 

“No, Marcus. I’ll sleep at Klaudia’s,” I raised my eyebrow and huffed an unimpressed laugh. 

“Didn't that bitch steal your watch  _ and  _ your clothes the last time you stayed over?”

“Yes, you fucker, but I don't give a shit. I’m not going back to the shelter, I...” she trailed off and put her face in her hands, exhaling shakily and seemingly trying to calm her breath. I closed my eyes for a moment and put my hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“Rue. Rue, look at me,” she lifted her head and looked up, her jaw clenched, a shadow of false fierceness around her eyes. I smiled reassuringly. “You need a bed. I’ll stay with you all night and if someone as much as looks at you, I’ll beat them half to death,” I gave her a toothy grin and squeezed her shoulder again. “I’m never going to let you get hurt again, okay? I promise I won't leave your side tonight,” she blinked at me a few times and then finally nodded. I knew she was mortified to go back to the shelter after what had almost happened to her there a few weeks back, but she must have been aware of her terrible situation. She needed a warm bed and some decent sleep, and she knew a homeless shelter was the only place she could get them. She trusted me enough to let me take her there and make sure she stays safe throughout the night.

She let me haul her to her feet and together we made our way to the subway station.

  
  


I’d called Cherié the moment Rue and I got off the subway and she was waiting for us outside the shelter once we got there half an hour later. Even though the sun was setting and the air was getting chilly, kids were running around the suburban neighbourhood, screaming in German. Teenagers were blasting hit songs on loudspeakers, and the benches in the nearby park were full of old people, doing whatever old people do. We made our way to the front gate where Cherié was standing, smoking a cigarette. She smiled gently and nodded a greeting. She was wearing a red tank top and a gray cardigan that always made her look at least four years older than she actually was. Her huge hoop earrings made themselves the centre of attention as always, twinkling in what was left of the sun. She had black skinny jeans on, cuffed almost all the way up to her knees, and her burgundy hair swayed in the wind. She gave me a sideways grin and winked at Rue, dropping the cigarette on the sidewalk and grounding it out with her red heel. (Don't ask about the heels. Just accept them along with the cardigan and move on. Unless you want to hear a two hour monologue about toxic masculinity and how fashion should be whatever you want it to be. Believe me, been there, done that.)

“Hello, dummies,” Cherié regarded us both for a moment longer and then turned around, opening the gate and walking toward the front door of the house. “Haven't seen you in a while, Rue, honey,” she kept talking as we walked behind her through the front yard of what must have been a one storey farmhouse in the past, but I started to zone out pretty quickly. The shelter seemed quite tiny on the outside, walls painted a nice warm yellow color, white windows and a blood red roof. The front yard was full of untamed bushes and some dusty old garden gnomes, and I knew for a fact that there were a bunch of benches and a big ancient wooden swing in the backyard. The place was cosy on the outside and fairly spacious on the inside, considering most of the walls had been taken down ages ago to make more room when the place was being turned into a homeless shelter. The three of us entered the house and were instantly met with the familiar smell of mashed potatoes and ramen noodles. There was no vestibule and we walked straight into a big cafeteria filled with metal tables and plastic chairs. At the far wall there was a large paneless window through which meals from the kitchen were given out. Each wall in the dining room was painted a different color and I wasn't exactly sure if I could name any of them. The two doors on the east wall lead to the kitchen and the bathroom respectively, and the one opposite them to the common area. We walked through and were met with the biggest room yet, packed with all kinds of beds and mattresses. There was a couch in one corner, and a few ottomans surrounded a tiny TV screen. About a dozen people were in the room, some watching the news, others reading or playing cards. Cherié led Rue and I to a king sized mattress that was pushed up against a wall and stopped, finally turning around and looking at us.

“So, I figured...you know, after last time, that you two would share a bed,” she smiled apologetically at Rue, who was facing the ground. She gave me a piercing look as if saying  _ don't let that shit happen again  _ and I nodded quickly, nervously cracking my knuckles. 

“Thanks, Cher,” I wanted to say more, but I knew it was too much already. She didn't want gratitude, not ever. She was a volunteer after all and she was there to help, but I’d always felt like she deserved some grand gesture that’d show her how thankful I was. 

Rue slumped onto the mattress and immediately curled up, pulling her knees to her chest. Cherié left to get us clean blankets from the storage room and I sat down on the edge of the bedding cross legged, staring into space. A few moments later Cherié was back with two pillows and a huge pink blanket that I pulled over Rue. I didn't know whether she was asleep or just  _ faking it until she made it _ , but her eyes were closed and she wasn't shaking as much anymore. At least for now.

“You want something to eat?” I looked up at Cherié from the floor and then back down at Rue and shook my head no, even though I was famished. I’d promised her I wouldn’t leave her alone, not after the last time. “Fine,” Cher shrugged and gave me a sympathetic smile. “I get off at eleven. We can go outside for a smoke then,” I furrowed my brows at her and opened my mouth to decline the offer, but she leaned down and grabbed my chin with her thumb and forefinger, giving me a face and staring right into my soul. “I'll have someone look after her, kid. Don’t worry, she's safe. We've been taking precautions ever since that freak fucking incident,” she let go of my face and grinned, teeth and all. “Get some sleep, you look terrible,” she hesitated. “But get this one a bucket first,” she pointed her chin at Rue. “Or you're scraping the floor first thing in the morning.”

  
  


I didn't get much sleep. Not with Rue trembling next to me, throwing up every half hour and sobbing quietly in-between. I did pretend to be asleep though; I figured having me there, fully awake and aware of what was happening to her would only make her ashamed. Maybe even angry – with me or with herself, either way I didn't want that happening. So I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to think about the dream I’d had before. I willed my body to relax, and forced my brain to think of anything other than my father’s face. I ended up thinking about Junior instead. I had so many mixed feelings about our encounter, so many questions. I was trying to figure out his motives (I suspected it was some kind of saviour complex) when I heard footsteps approaching and then felt my shoulder being shaken.

“Get up, kid,” Cherié was whispering as she shrugged her jacket on, looking down at me expectantly. I sat up and pointed at Rue, who seemed to have finally fallen asleep, although she was still shaking and hiccuping every once in a while. 

“I promised her I wouldn't leave her side,” my voice sounded alien to me for some reason, hushed and rasped; worried. “If she wakes up and I'm gone she  _ will  _ freak out.”

Cherié sighed deeply and motioned for me to wait. She left towards the kitchen and I took my time putting my shoes on and fishing a coat out of my backpack. A few moments later Cherié was back with some girl I’d never seen before. She looked around the room for a beanbag and once she located one, she pulled it close to Rue and I's mattress. She whispered something to me in hurried German and I blinked at her, smiling apologetically and cringing at myself. Cherié sighed again.

“This is Ella. She’ll watch Rue and make sure she's safe. She studies psychology, kid,” she gave me that  _ “I’m very right and you know it”  _ kind of look of hers and gestured for me to stand up. “Now come on, I have a baby at home,” and then she was walking away, toward the back door. 

  
  


It was a beautiful night, even though light pollution prevented most of the stars from peaking through and letting themselves be seen. It always made me miss them even more, when I knew they were there, but out of my reach. Kind of like my parents.

We smoked in silence for a while, but Cherié wasn't exactly one to stay quiet for a long time.

“You know she's not gonna get better, right?”

“I know,” it was my turn to heave a sigh as I watched the smoke curling around us. We were seated on the porch, looking out onto the backyard where a single old man was still playing with his dog, despite the late hour. 

“She needs to get professional help.”

“Well I'm not really in a position where I can provide that, am I?” I watched her exhale as I brought one hand to my face, closing my eyes and taking one last whiff of the cigarette before I put it out and pushed the heels of my palms into my eyes until they hurt.  “So I’m doing the best I can. Being a friend.”

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes after that and I guess my eyes started watering because then I was sniffling and Cherié was looking at me as if I were made of glass, as if anything she said could break me.

“Kid…”

“I just wish I could go home, you know,” I gave her a pathetic little laugh and tried to smile at her, but it was a grimace more than anything else. “When people are going through shit, with friends or at school, or at work. They get to go home at the end of the day, lay down, watch some TV. And I’m stuck here, with my drug addict friend and parents who wanted to fix me but couldn't,” I was wiping the tears away but it seemed there was an infinite supply of them, so I finally gave up and let them flow down my face. “Fuck, I'm sorry. Sorry,” Cherié stayed silent and let me cry (God bless her) and after a few minutes she got a pack of tissues from her purse and handed them to me. I tried to make myself look presentable, but  the tears were still coming and so I focused on folding the tissue in half, and then in half again and again until it was just a tiny square in the middle of my palm.

“I know you're not religious, Marcus,” I didn't know if that was true. I’d always believed in God. I just wasn't sure if he believed in me, not after what my parents had told me anyway. “But this was apparently what God had in store for you. And I’m glad you're here,” she smiled then, that warm smile of hers reserved mostly for old homeless people that I loved so much because it made me feel like she cared. “Because if the alternative is some lunatics “fixing” you...” she made quotation marks in the air with one hand. “Then I think this is better, honestly,” she put her hand on my shoulder and rubbed it in that maternal way she did. I thought at that moment that I didn't know what on earth I would do without her. Probably curl up and die on some dirty street corner. Nothing too sophisticated.

“I have to go, kid,” she said after a while, already standing up.

“Give Angel a big hug from me, alright?” Cherié smiled and ruffled my hair. I tried to get away, but she held my face in her palms and looked me in the eye, all seriousness and warmth, and something that anyone else would mistake for pity, but I knew by then it was genuine concern.

“Of course I will,” she whispered and I thought for a moment that she was going to cry. Instead she bent down to kiss the top of my head, and then she was walking away. She made her way around the house and down the street, toward her tiny flat where her mother and her child were waiting for her to return home after a long day of helping people.  As I sat there still for a moment, I thought about those assignments I used to get in elementary school, the ones where you had to write about someone that you considered a hero. 

And I knew that if I had to write one now, I'd write it about Cherié Fisher. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my lovely beta @faux_affliction for being patient with my stupid mistakes and too long sentences. and big thanks to anyone who likes the story so far. y'all are the ogs
> 
> you can find me on twitter —> @/raskcinikov


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